


Letters From Long Ago

by bisexualamy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Post-Iron Man 3, basically this is an AU that happens after IM3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-14 04:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7152731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualamy/pseuds/bisexualamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1991, and Howard and Maria Stark both die tragically in a car crash, just months after Howard manages to recreate Dr. Abraham Erskine’s Super Soldier Serum, the first samples in existence since Steve Rogers crashed the <i>Valkyrie</i> into the ocean.</p><p>The year is 2013, and Tony Stark decides to visit his old home in New York.  What he finds, however, could very well change the world as he knows it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tony Stark: March 21st, 2013

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to do a big, multi-chaptered MCU fic and this came to me one night. I hope you'll like it as much as I liked writing it. This fic is dual perspective and switches off chapter by chapter. One Tony, one Howard, and the date is designated in the chapter title. I've planned out this fic because I really intend to finish it, although based on how long the chapters get, the final chapter total is subject to change.

There was a time when Tony Stark swore he would never return to New York City.  Not after he saw the sky open up and rain aliens down on the millions of people that lived there, or after the enormous amount of property damaged he and the other Avengers caused fighting those aliens.

Not when the very name of the city gave him panic attacks.

But, the times were changing.  He had a new heart (a real one, not one that was leaking chemicals into his body), he’d destroyed all of his Iron Man suits, and he and Pepper were actually trying to do this relationship thing.  They’d put themselves up in one of Stark Tower’s many rooms (and he still insisted on calling it that, because no matter how many superheroes lived there, he still wasn’t going to let them rename his tower) and just tried to _live._  Just tried to enjoy being alive and on a fresh start towards something better.  Pepper still ran Stark Industries, and did a damn good job of it too, but they’d been finding more time for date nights and dinners, and Tony had actually been putting in effort to sleep.  Some might call that a healthy dose of moving on.

Tony just tried not to call it boring.

That’s why, when the thought occurred to him not a month after moving back that maybe he should visit his childhood home, he didn’t immediately dismiss it.  It wasn’t that Tony always entertained even his most ridiculous of ideas (he did, but that wasn’t the point), but more surprise that _this_ was the ridiculous idea he’d come up with.  He’d had the standard ones, naturally, of rebuilding his Iron Man suits or doing something particularly ostentatious for Pepper, but nothing that would force him to relive memories that were best forgotten.  Still, after some thought, he decided that he’d been so focused on moving forward that this was his brain trying to dial him back.  Maybe, if he averaged out these two extremes, he’d have time for the present.  Deciding it wasn’t the worst idea he’d ever come up with, Tony did what he did best: grabbed the idea with full force and thought _oh, what the hell?_

So, that was how Tony Stark found himself driving down the streets of New York City, headed towards a Stark family mansion that hadn’t been touched in at least a decade.  He knew he still owned the place, mostly because he hadn’t been bothered to even _empty_ it once his parents died, let alone sell it, but he’d be lying if he didn’t say he still felt a vague attachment to the building.  It had certainly never felt like a home, but it sometimes he’d deluded himself into pretending it was.  That was worth something, at least.

It was raining, and by the time he’d pulled up the driveway, the windshield wipers were going close to their full speed.  Realizing that Pepper was the one who always remembered to bring an umbrella, Tony resigned himself to an impromptu shower, parked the car, and ran towards the front door.  After a moment of fiddling with the keys, he managed to unlock the mansion and step inside.

The place was exactly as he had left in back in the nineties.  White sheets, now coated in dust, covered most of the furniture, the artwork was off their hooks and either relocated or leaning against the walls, and the foyer smelled of a must Tony was certain he’d find throughout the rest of the mansion.  He could hear the rain patter against the roof and see the drops slide down the windowpanes, and in that moment he froze and allowed himself to take it all in.  That was what his therapist, the one Pepper insisted he see about his supposed PTSD, told him to do. _“Let your emotions coexist with your experiences,”_ the man had said, and Tony remembered thinking it was some spiritual shit he didn’t need. _“Emotions can be overwhelming. Acknowledge them, experience them, and send them away.  Don’t let them take hold of you.”_

Right now, the only thing taking hold of him was a serious desire to take off his wet jacket and stop shivering.  He hadn’t been paying the electric bills for this place anymore, so there was no heat to turn on, but Tony started by hanging up his wet jacket and taking off his shoes.  His socks, albeit a bit soaked through, felt much more comfortable on the hardwood floors, and if he really felt like reflecting, he could think about the times he’d tried to slide in his socks through this very foyer, going from the living room to the library in one push.  Despite it being early afternoon, the storm had blotted out most of the sunlight, so Tony pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and turned on its flashlight.  He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for, or why he had such a desire to come here, but he figured he’d know it when he saw it.

He wandered into the library, looking at the dusty volumes of books that hadn’t been touched since the early nineties.  Despite his attempts to stay in the present, Tony found himself remembering the nights he’d spend down here when he was younger, sitting upright in an armchair that was too big for him, pouring over books about science and mechanics and taking careful notes.  He’d wanted to be an inventor as soon as he’d learned how to hold most of the tools in a toolbox, and while he found a lot of what was in the books trivial, he had figured that learning from the past couldn’t hurt.  Standing on the shoulders of giants, and all that.

But now, the books would probably have a better life if he donated them to a series of local libraries.  Tony made a mental note to come back here when he bothered to turn the power on and clean them all out, and same went for the artwork.  The furniture could also easily find a second life, and while it all struck Tony as dated and fundamentally not his style, he could see if Pepper wanted anything.  If not, vintage was in again, wasn’t it?  This stuff could probably go for a decent price on eBay.

Passing through the library led him back towards the kitchen.  For all the things he’d left as is, Tony was grateful he’d had the good sense to have anything perishable cleaned out of the kitchen as soon as it became clear no one was going to live in the mansion anymore.  The dishes were cleaned and put away, the pots were hanging above the stove, and the pantry shelves were empty.  Unlike the library, which had remnants of its past life left scattered about, the kitchen felt sterile.  It was hard to believe while looking at the immaculate and precise setup that anyone had lived here at all.  It felt more like a museum display than a kitchen, like those fake colonial towns that recreated rooms from the 1700s for people to shuffle through and be momentarily grateful for past progress.  Even the refrigerator, sitting stone silent instead of humming with electricity, felt out of place.

The feeling that he was observing a ghost town felt a little too accurate for Tony (after all, the last people to live here _were_ dead) and he resolved to push this thought out of his mind and keep walking around.  He still hadn’t gotten anything out of this trip besides stirring up some unwanted memories and taking a run in the rain, and he wasn’t going to leave until he felt like this idea panned out.  Even if, as he continued to wander through the different rooms of his childhood, that idea seemed ever increasingly stupider.

After making his way through several more rooms, Tony saw that his father’s office door was opened slightly.  This was a bit odd, seeing as all the doors in the mansion were either firmly shut or completely opened, and it almost looked to Tony like someone had been in there recently and wanted to make it look like the office had been just as untouched as the rest of the mansion.  It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, after all, his father had a lot of old military secrets and classified documents, but the only one who had a key to this place was him, and probably Pepper.  Neither of them had any need for what was in the office of long dead Howard Stark.

His curiosity getting the better of him, Tony opened the door and walked in.  The first thing he noticed was that if this place had been ransacked, there would’ve been no way to tell.  His father was constantly starting new projects, abandoning old ones only to return to them a few years later, and keeping every scrap of paper that might contain an idea.  The office was exactly as Tony remembered it from the few times he’d been allowed inside.  Stacks of paper with seemingly no organizational structure were covering every surface.  The desk, most notably, bore the brunt of it, with towers so tall they were practically precarious.  Ballpoint pens that proudly wore the Stark Industries logo were scattered on the floor and on every flat surface.  Off to the side, Tony even saw a crystal container that still had some whiskey in it.

There was a bit of light shining in from the window in the back of the office, so Tony lowered the brightness on his flashlight.  Skimming the top pages of many of the stacks of paper, these projects all seemed to be outdated or common knowledge by now.  He saw nothing of particular importance, certainly nothing worth stealing, and while it was possible that whoever had come in here before had taken anything of interest, Tony doubted it.  There were no signs of a break in, nothing beyond the slightly opened door that was out of the ordinary.  It was the darkness and the rain making his already paranoid self a bit more on edge.

He found his way to the back of the office where the desk was, and sat in his father’s worn out leather chair.  Even after years of sitting unused it was still comfortable, though Tony wasn’t surprised by this.  His father never had a problem spending money, especially on himself, and this chair would be worth thousands of dollars even now.  He settled back in it, leaning the back of his head against the cushion made to meet it, and closed his eyes.  A crack of thunder rang out over New York City, and the smells of mustiness, leather, and old paper mingled in his nose.  For a moment, he almost felt at ease.  

A memory made sure the feeling ended quickly.  In his mind’s eye, he saw his younger self cautiously walking into this office to ask his father some question Tony had forgotten by now.  His father had been writing, or drawing some sort of schematic, and chain smoking cigarettes like he always did when the stress got to him.  He’d called out to Howard to get his attention, and then man hadn’t looked up, too absorbed in his work.  After the third attempt to break his concentration, his father finally stopped what he was doing.

 _“What is it you want?”_  Tony repeated the words to himself, feeling as though he was reliving the memory.   _“Can’t you see I’m busy?”_

_“I just wanted to know-”_

_“Can it wait until later?”_ His father’s tone hadn’t actually been as malicious as it was in Tony’s memory, but a lifetime of resentment will do that.  Tony had learned, even back then, that arguing with his father while he was working was pointless, and had exited the office in defeat.

Well, now this office was _his,_ and he was going to treat it as such.  Tony stretched out in the chair, considering even going for the whiskey, when his foot hit something hard underneath the desk.  Looking down, he saw a small black safe stashed out of view from anyone that wasn’t sitting in this chair.  Tony bent down to pick it up and set it on the desk.  It was a cube that couldn’t have edges more than a few feet in length, and on the front was an engraved Stark Industries logo and a dial.

Tony tried the door, but the safe was locked.  He then tried a few number combinations his family had used in the past, and all of them turned out to be wrong.  Staring at the safe, Tony felt himself determined to figure out what was so important that his father not only locked it away, but kept it intentionally out of anyone’s sight but his own.  Besides, if he couldn’t crack a safe, even a Stark one, from a few decades ago, then he _really_ hadn’t deserved his stint as Stark Industries CEO.

He pulled out his cell phone and quickly scanned the safe.  Soon, after analyzing the internal mechanism for a bit, Tony figured out the combination and opened it.  Inside were a few of his father’s lab journals, various scientific formulas, and a few other bits of paper.  These certainly didn’t look like they were worth all the secrecy.  Finally feeling like there had been a reason for his trip, Tony took everything out of the safe and began to leaf through it.  After reading for a few minutes, his eyes grew wide.  Forgetting about walking through the rest of the house, he stashed everything in the inside pockets of his jacket to avoid them getting wet in the rain, ran outside to his car, and sped home.

***

“JARVIS!” Tony called as he practically ran to his workshop in Stark Tower.

“Good afternoon, sir,” came the AI’s voice, which could almost be described as pleasant.

“JARVIS, tell me everything we know about the Super Soldier Serum,” Tony instructed.

As JARVIS talked, documents ranging from official reports to news articles appeared on the blue holographic interface surrounding Tony.

“The Super Soldier Serum, first tested in 1943 as part of Project Rebirth, was developed by Dr. Abraham Erskine and funded by the United States Military and your father through Stark Industries-”

“That’s great, JARVIS,” Tony said, flicking through the documents in front of him.  “Can you skip to the part where the formula gets lost?”

“In 1943, right after the first successful test of the serum through Project Rebirth, Dr. Erskine was shot by a HYDRA agent and the final vial of serum was destroyed.”  JARVIS paused before saying, “sir, if I may inquire, don’t you know this already?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of a dramatic buildup, JARVIS?” Tony asked with mock incredulousness.  Despite being a machine, JARVIS could be downright _endearing_ sometimes.  “So the serum gets officially lost in 1943,” Tony continues, “and never pops up again?”

“That is correct, sir,” JARVIS said.  “There have been many attempts to replicate it by various military and fringe scientific groups, but none of the have found any success.”

“That’s because they didn’t have this.  Take a peek, JARVIS,” Tony said as he took out the items he’d collected from his father’s safe.  JARVIS scanned each one and downloaded them to the appropriate databases and files.  As he worked, Tony waited for the realization.

“These are some of your father’s old notes,” JARVIS said matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” Tony replied, “but look a little closer.”

JARVIS whirred a little as he worked, and Tony could sense the ever slight change in his demeanor (if you could even call it that) as he reached the end of the journals.

“These are your father’s attempts to replicate the Super Soldier Serum,” JARVIS reported.

“And it looks like he got pretty damn close, too,” Tony said.  “By 1984 he’s having what looks like promising tests.”

“That’s true, sir, but these notes stop soon after that.  It doesn’t appear he ever figured it out.”

“Well, I was always smarter than him anyway,” Tony said flippantly.  “What do you say, JARVIS?  Let’s finish my old man’s final work.”


	2. Howard Stark: March 18th, 1974

It was days like this when Howard Stark wondered why he even bothered to have an expo in the first place.  It didn’t make Stark Industries nearly as much money as some other projects might, but that hadn’t been the point.  The future, progress, finally getting those moon bases and flying cars. That had been the goal.  It was hard to keep the goal in mind, however, when people felt the need to run every decision about the expo by him. He couldn’t walk down the hallway to one of his offices without someone calling, “Mr. Stark, can I just have your signature!” and thrusting papers for something he didn’t bother reading under his nose.  Didn’t he have administrators for this?  Someone to delegate this responsibilities to?  Whoever had this job now, they were fired as soon as he learned their name.

Howard thought his opening video and stamp of approval would’ve been enough involvement in the expo.  Instead, he was handling so much administrative work he didn’t have time to do what he actually wanted: invent.  Wasn’t that the whole reason he started this company, as a mechanism to make his ideas a reality?  Right now, it felt like an unruly teenager who desperately wanted independence but had none of the means of accomplishing it, and besides, he already had a kid.

These were the times he had to sit back in his office chair, close his eyes, and remind himself why he was putting on this logistical nightmare.

_“I built this for you, and some day you'll realize that it represents a whole lot more than just people's inventions. It represents my life's work.”_

Tony wasn’t even four yet, much too young to understand the legacy his father was building, and what Howard was leaving him.  Currently, the boy’s main concerns were when he was next being fed and where his mother was.  But Howard, who’d always been better at planning for a hypothetical future than dealing with the present, had his mind decades down the line.  He’d spent his life building nothing but weapons for a world anticipating World War III, but maybe he could leave his son a world where Tony could do something more.

He was broken out of this thoughts by a knock on his office door.  Howard considered ignoring it, figuring it was someone else chasing his signature, when he heard his secretary’s voice on the other side.

“Mr. Stark?” she said.  “You’re due to meet with the expo’s top investors in twenty minutes.”

Damn, he’d forgotten about that.  The expo hadn’t needed much more than Stark Industries’ own funds to get off the ground, but an expo was nothing without people willing to invest in the new projects it churned out.  As much as Howard hated it, he’d have to periodically entertain these men and remind them of the important work they were helping create.  It brought him back to the days when he was groveling for loans to get Stark Industries off the ground, often subject to the whims of his donors, and those were times he’d rather not relive.

Sighing, Howard poured himself a shot of whiskey, knocked it back, and called, “alright, I’m coming,” in the direction of the door.

Twenty minutes later he was holding another glass of whiskey, but this time it was in the presence of some of the world’s richest men.  They were gathered in one of the ballrooms of a hotel Howard had rented out for guests of the expo.  Waiters walked around holding plates of hor d’oeuvres and offering them to guests, and people went to and from the open bar rather frequently.  The free alcohol had been an intentional detail.  After all, people were more likely to make expensive decisions when they were a little tipsy.

Howard was currently chatting with a man who was surprisingly subtle for representing the Department of Defense’s interests, and if he let his mind go a little, Howard could almost say he was enjoying himself.  However, that moment wasn’t destined to last long.  Just as he felt he was beginning to have a real conversation, he saw his business partner, Obadiah Stane, coming over to interrupt.  That could only mean a bigger fish wanted to talk to Howard.

“Mr. Cooper, so nice to see you again,” Obadiah said, shaking the man from the Department of Defense’s hand.  He gave Mr. Cooper a warm smile that Howard remembered doing so well in his younger years.  It seemed that, as Howard had calcified into an old man, Obie had taking over the role of being charming.  “We really appreciate you speaking with us.  Unfortunately,” he turned to Howard, who knew what was coming, “Mr. Stark is needed elsewhere for the moment, though I’m sure he’d be more than willing to find you later.”

Mr. Cooper gave a small laugh which seemed quite forced to Howard, and said, “he’s a busy man, isn’t he?  Don’t worry, Howard, I’ll find you later.”  He then walked back to the bar.

“Obie,” Howard muttered, “who is so important that you have to pull me away from a military man with very deep pockets?”

“The man I want you to speak to looks to me like special intelligence,” Obie replied.  “He was very keen on talking to you.  Just give him ten minutes.”

Howard stopped his displeasure from showing on his face.  He’d had more than his fair share of dealing with special intelligence people once he’d helped Peggy found SHIELD, and didn’t particularly like them, but Obie didn’t know that.  Still, there was a reason Peggy handled most of SHIELD’s innerworkings and Howard served as more of an outside contractor.  She’d always had better people skills.

As the two of them crossed the room, Obie pointed out the man.  His hair was a bit too messy and he was wearing glasses with thicker rims than Howard was used to seeing.  When Howard spotted him, he had one hand in the pocket of his suit pants and one holding a rocks glass, staring aimlessly at the different crowds of people.  There still was a chance this guy _was_ special intelligence, but Howard suddenly felt more confident that he could stomach this.

“Here he is,” Obie said proudly, gesturing to the man.  “Mr. Timothy Anderson, meet Howard Stark.”

Howard shook Mr. Anderson’s hand and said, “very nice of you to come, Mr. Anderson.”

“Oh, it was no trouble,” Mr. Anderson said, grasping Howard’s hand for just a bit too long before letting go.  “I’m actually very excited to be here.  I’ve always wanted to come to a Stark Expo.  You were something of a hero of mine when I was growing up, Mr. Stark.”

“Is that right?” Obie asked happily, confident that this was going to go somewhere beneficial to everyone.  “I’ll leave you two alone, then.”  He clapped Howard on the back and left to go talk to some other investors.

“That’s very nice of you to say,” Howard told Mr. Anderson, taking a small sip of his own whiskey.  He was used to people calling him a hero, despite the fact that he didn’t feel like one.  He wondered what this man’s fascination was, especially because Obie mentioned him being special intelligence.  Was it the Manhattan Project?  His advancements in weapons technology?

Mr. Anderson began to pull Howard aside as he started to speak.

“I mean it, Mr. Stark.  You’ve done a great service to your country with all you’ve accomplished.”  He then lowered his voice and said, “your work with Project Rebirth, especially.”

Howard stopped cold.  Project Rebirth was a highly classified government project, something most SHIELD agents didn’t even know about.  There was now no doubt in his mind that Mr. Anderson had to be some kind of special intelligence, if not a foreign spy.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Howard muttered, “but if I did, I’d say that that information is highly classified.”

“Well, while we’re talking in the hypothetical,” Mr. Anderson said, “if I knew what Project Rebirth was, and I knew the part you played in it, I’d say that you and the rest of your team are unsung national heroes.  That the work you did for this country, a country that can never properly thank you, is unprecedented.  You know, Mr. Stark, people go back and forth arguing about what your greatest achievement was, but if I could throw my hat into the ring, I’d say that Project Rebirth, were you to have had a role in it, would easily top the list.  Giving the world Captain America is something we can never repay you for.”  He paused, looking at Howard with a glint in his eyes.  “That is, of course, assuming you did work on it.  Which, as we both know, is highly classified.”

Howard, for one of the first times in his life, couldn’t find his words.  He made a go to say something when Mr. Anderson interjected.

“If your expo has anything remotely similar to that, then I certainly know where I’m putting my money,” he said, before thanking Howard for his time and walking away.

Almost immediately after he left, Obie came back up behind him and asked, “so, how did it go?”

“You know,” Howard said, still staring after Mr. Anderson in disbelief.  “I don’t actually know.”

***

Hours later, Howard was back in his office, nursing what was definitely one too many whiskeys for that night.  His tie was off and the top button of his shirt was unbuttoned.  He knew he should go home.  Maria had definitely already put Tony to bed, and while she claimed to not stay up for him anymore, he knew she had trouble falling asleep when she was worried about how late he was going to get back.  Still, he felt like his conversation with Mr. Anderson was weighing him in place.  He’d carried it around throughout the rest of that evening’s socializing like a heavy backpack, wanting desperately to analyze it but not having the chance.  Now that he’d finally escaped and made his way back to his office, he had the luxury of alone time.

There was no getting around the fact that Timothy Anderson had to be some kind of special intelligence, if not a member SHIELD itself.  He hoped that that wasn’t the case, that Peggy didn’t just send someone to mess with him, but he wouldn’t put it past her.  He didn’t want to consider the alternative, that SHIELD was operating without her oversight, and pushed it from his mind before giving it the legitimacy of careful consideration.

Regardless of where Mr. Anderson came from and what kind of clearance level he had, Howard was reluctant to admit that the man had made a decent point.  Howard had spent the past few decades of his life making weapons, from the atom bomb to missiles to fighter jets.  The only thing he had made that didn’t have the express purpose of killing was Captain America.  Steve.  Dr. Erskine had told him that the Super Soldier Serum not only physically enhanced the subject, but mentally enhanced everything about the person.  Those people who were good on the inside became great, and those who were bad on the inside became evil.  Howard had intentionally never given much thought to what sort of person he’d turn out to be if he’d ever been injected.

And that was just it.  Howard had feared for at least a decade that he’d become jaded in his later years, that time had corrupted him.  That one day he wouldn’t be able to look in the mirror and tell himself he was a good person.  In his twenties and thirties he was a man of vision, one who looked at the future with hope, knowing that progress was just around the corner and he would be the one to bring the world closer to it.  Instead, he’d been coming up with more efficient ways to kill people.  The military told him that his weapons saved more lives than they took, that the lives they took were bad lives, the lives of the enemy, but this somehow didn’t help Howard sleep any more restfully.  Who was he to judge who deserved to live and die?  He’d often viewed himself as a giant, but that was the jurisdiction of gods.

Not with Steve, though.  With the Super Soldier Serum, he and Dr. Erskine had created something great in the world, something that had inspired patriotism and optimism.  Steve Rogers was the definition of a good man turned great.  For all of the terrible things he’d done, at least Howard had that to be thankful for.  Just like Mr. Anderson had said: he’d given the world Captain America.

Still, the past was the past.  He could reflect on Project Rebirth all he wanted to so he could make himself feel better, but it didn’t change the present.  He was still trying to atone for his past sins through the Stark Expo, and Steve Rogers was still dead.  Everything good he’d done with that project was hidden from public view.  When Howard died, he would be remembered as a weapons tycoon and nothing more, and while he usually had the good sense to not let that faze him, tonight he couldn’t bring himself to ignore how much it felt like a punch in the gut.  He was more than this, dammit.  He was made for greater things.

As Howard leaned back in his chair, taking another sip of whiskey, he let out a long sigh.  His eyes drifted to his desk, covered in papers and schematics of the new weapons he was designing, and with a huff pushed them off the table like a petulant child.  If he was going to be remembered in a way he didn’t like, the least he could do was allow himself to forget his legacy for one night.  He wondered what Abraham Erskine would say if he saw him now, fifty-six and miserable.  If he hadn’t been shot by that HYDRA agent he would’ve definitely been dead by now, but Howard was already entertaining ludicrous thoughts tonight, so what was one more?

 _“Stark,”_ he repeated in a terrible German accent, as if he was Dr. Erskine sitting across from himself.   _“What are you doing with yourself?  You said you wanted to be a great, but you got lazy.  You bought into the powers that be, took the easy route.  You’ve never liked the easy route, and now you’ve gotten so comfortable you’ve forgotten how to move forward.  No wonder you’re so miserable.”_

Howard scoffed at himself, wondering what he was even doing.  Abraham had been dead over thirty years.  If he woke up in 1974, he’d be amazed by the progress the world had made.  Or, horrified at what it had become.  A world locked in fear of nuclear war, every person with a gun to their head.  This wasn’t a world Dr. Erskine would’ve wanted, even if it was the world Howard helped to create.

“So, what would you do, Abraham?” Howard asked.  “I helped you think through your serum.  Help me think through my life.”

There was no answer.  Howard set the glass of whiskey down and leaned his head against his hand.  Of course Dr. Erskine had nothing to say.  Howard wouldn’t know what to say to himself either.

“I suppose you’d want me to change,” Howard continued.  “Make a better life for myself.  Finish the work you started.”

But how could he finish that work when the serum had been lost to history?  Steve Rogers was dead, and the only vials of serum that ever existed were injected into his body.  Howard still had Dr. Erskine’s notes, but he’d tried to recreate the serum before and it never panned out.  What would be the point in trying again?

Dr. Erskine didn’t answer him that time either, presumably because Howard already knew the answer.  The point in trying again was the same as it always was: the possibility of success, the struggle for the sake of creation.  Maybe even to better the world.

Howard took out a notebook and began to jot down what he remembered of Dr. Erskine’s work.  He had Abraham’s notes locked away in his home office, and made a mental note to look them over again tomorrow.  Maybe, after all these years of regarding the Super Soldier Serum as an unsolvable mystery, he’d come up with some way to crack it.

As he wrote, his handwriting getting messier as he picked up the pace of his writing, his thoughts increasing in speed as they built on one another, he remembered something he’d put in his video for Tony a few weeks before.

_“I'm limited by the technology of my time, but one day you'll figure this out. And when you do, you will change the world.”_


	3. Tony Stark: March 24th, 2013

“JARVIS, if we raise the levels of Vita Radiation 20%, can you simulate for me the effect on the subject?”

Tony was standing in the middle of many blue holographic simulations, playing with the levels of different compounds in his fabricated serum. He and JARVIS been at this for days, trying to mimic the effects of different versions of the Super Soldier Serum without using any live test subjects.

“I’ll do my best, sir, but you didn’t program me for biology,” JARVIS replied, processing the simulation before displaying it for Tony.

“I programmed you for whatever has the potential to catch my interest,” Tony shot back, smiling in no particular direction.  After all, JARVIS was more or less all around him, so the direction didn’t matter.

“That may be true, sir, but you’ve never had quite an interest in biology or human physiology until now.”

Tony laughed despite himself.  For a machine, JARVIS had a pretty decent sense of humor, even if he didn’t realize it.  After another moment of working, JARVIS reported back the results.

“It appears that that level of Vita Radiation, even with the serum’s documented protective effects, would be lethal to any person in perfect health.  That’s not even considering people with average health,” JARVIS reported, “which would most likely be the kind of person you’d administer such a serum to.  It seems as though your previous levels were the top of the safety range.”

“Dammit,” Tony muttered, then, speaking at normal volume again said, “okay, JARVIS, show me a summary of what we’ve done so far.”

JARVIS pulled up all of his notes so far on the holographic interface side-by-side with his father’s old findings.  Tony had discovered on the first day of working that his father hadn’t had any major breakthroughs for almost two years after his notes began.  A lot of his ideas that he spent months developing were often scratched within the first year due to their unfeasible nature, and through Howard’s trial and error Tony had a few variables already worked out that Howard spent weeks puzzling through.  This foreknowledge, paired with the 21st century’s technological breakthroughs, should’ve put Tony had a decent advantage, but the process was still much too slow going for his taste.  He was much more used to technological projects which would’ve had some kind of prototype, even just a holographic schematic, after three days of nonstop work.  Instead, all Tony had figured out was the most amount of Vita Radiation a person could withstand without dying, and over fifty ways to send a person’s body into shock from cellular growth that was much too fast.  If someone could hack into his home servers, they’d be more likely to assume he was building a biological weapon than a superhuman-producing serum.

It was then that he realized he’d barely left his workshop since he brought back his father’s notes.  He’d taken a few power naps in one of the rolling chairs scattered around, and JARVIS had often reminded him to put some kind of food in his body, but he still hadn’t seen Pepper in almost a week.  Running a company like Stark Industries was time consuming, but not so much so that she wouldn’t have noticed his absence.  She was probably worried he was trying to rebuild his Iron Man suits, and even though he wasn’t, he still felt oddly guilty.

“JARVIS,” he said.  “Have that florist guy Pepper uses for all those company dinners send her a bouquet of stuff she likes, and have him charge it to me.”

“Right away, sir.”

It didn’t make up for starting back on path towards becoming a recluse, but it was something.  Resigning himself to the fact that he was set for another few days without progress, he pulled up a rolling chair to the center of the holographic interface and sat down.

As Tony continued to swipe through the results of the previous simulated tests he’d run, he started thinking out loud.  That was another good thing about having JARVIS around.  If he spoke to no one in particular, an outside observer could always assume he was talking to the AI, and usually JARVIS knew when to contribute and when to just keep quiet.

“I don’t see how we can do much more to stimulate cellular growth, especially not to the point Dr. Erskine managed,” Tony muttered.  “My father’s final experiments still pointed to him turning lab rats into tiny Frankenstein’s monsters, and any levels we increase in either Vita Radiation or enzyme content seem to be the newest painful way to kill a hopeful test subject.”

Tony leaned back in his chair, letting out a sigh.

“He was so close, too,” he continued.  “It doesn’t make sense that this is the point he’d stop at.  My old man was good at abandoning projects, but never when they showed this much promise.  I don’t buy that he spent the last seven years of his life trying to forget about how far he’d come.”

The papers he found had been locked in a safe with a combination not even Howard’s family members knew, hidden from anyone’s view but his own.  His father knew both the sensitivity of his work and how important it would be if he completed it.  Tony had known him to be paranoid in the last years of his life, going on about the “damn Russians holding a grudge” or some foreign secret intelligence plotting to kill him.  His son had always chalked it up to an old man with too many secrets, and Maria often told her husband he was overly suspicious, but Howard seemed to truly believe that someone was out to get him.  He might have abandoned the project for that reason, but Howard Stark had never been a man to let a little paranoia stand in the way of “the future.”  Not when he was the most stubborn person Tony knew.

Still, even if there were more notes, Tony wouldn’t know where to start looking for them.  His father had taken many extra precautions to make sure his preliminary work wasn’t discovered.  If he’d made a major breakthrough that brought him within inches of recreating the Super Soldier Serum, that would be under an even stricter lock and key.

“I need to know how this affects a real person,” Tony said to himself, looking through some of the less excruciating ways he’d come up with to kill a test subject and seeing if he could modify them to be less, well, deadly.  “There’ve been lots of failed Super Soldier experiments, but the only successful one was-”

Tony stopped, pushing himself back in his chair and rolling until friction took over.  There was only one successful Super Soldier experiment, and he knew just where to find him.

“JARVIS,” Tony said.  “Where’s the good Captain?”

“Steve Rogers is in the fifteenth floor kitchen, sir,” JARVIS reported.

“Excellent,” Tony said, practically jumping out of his chair.  “Transfer the highlights of my findings to my cell phone.  I have a surprise meeting with a Super Soldier.”

***

When Tony found Steve, he was eating cereal at the breakfast bar and looking over that morning’s newspaper.  Tony found this odd, because he hadn’t realized it was the morning, but the sun going down was usually a suggestion to him rather than a sign that he should go to sleep.  He sat down on the other side of the bar, dragging the stool so Steve would have to look up at the sound.  Pointedly setting down the newspaper, Steve raised his eyes towards Tony.

“Good morning, Tony,” he said.

“Good morning, Rogers,” Tony said, his smile a bit too wide for Steve’s liking.  Tony took out his cell phone, set it on the breakfast bar, and turned it so it was facing Steve.  “I have a proposition for you.”

Tony turned on the cell phone and, like the reliable AI he was, JARVIS had already loaded up his key findings on the device.  As he flicked through the simplified highlights of his experiments (after all, Steve may be a superhuman, but Tony knew he couldn’t hold a candle to _his_ intelligence) he kept speaking.

“I’m working on an experiment of sorts, y’know, bettering the world and all that.  I’m trying to develop a supplement for hospitals to increase the speed of their patient’s healing.  Less people in hospitals for less amounts of time.  Saves time, money, and everyone’s happy.  You can thank me later.”

Steve looked at him skeptically, then turned his eyes back to Tony’s cell phone.  Tony continued to flip through the data at a rather fast speed, so Steve pushed his hand away and picked up the cell phone himself, going back through what Tony had skipped.  Tony began to speak more quickly.

“What I need from you, or rather, what you can do to help with this brilliant project, is let me take a sample of your blood.  Your rate of healing is unprecedented, and if I could find a biological mechanism in your blood that I can transfer over to this supplement, I could-”

“Stop,” Steve said, putting Tony’s cell phone down, “and cut the crap.  I know what this is.”

“Oh, so you do speak science,” Tony said, smirking confidently in a way that reminded Steve distinctly of Howard.  “Then I’ll forego the further explanation and just-”

“You’re not creating a healing supplement,” Steve said, looking at Tony in a way that so disapproving Steve could’ve been his second father.  “You don’t think the SSR didn’t run a ton of experiments on me to figure out how the hell I worked?  You’re trying to recreate the Super Soldier Serum, and I won’t have any part in it.”

He got up from the breakfast bar to go wash his bowl out in the sink, leaving Tony to stare angrily at his back.  However, Tony quickly recovered.

“So what if I am?” he asked.  “I thought you’d be thrilled.  Someone might actually be able to explain to you how you work.”

Steve sighed, setting his bowl in the sink and turning back to face Tony.

“Tony, the Super Soldier Serum is an incredible weapon.  And, it’s _dangerous,_ especially if it falls in the wrong hands.  I’m grateful no one managed to recreate it while I was in the ice.  That serum in the wrong hands could have devastating results.”

“Who said anything about the wrong hands?” Tony asked.  “The only hands this serum will touch are my two capable ones.  And, maybe JARVIS’, but he doesn’t technically have hands.”  Tony smiled at the joke, attempting to lighten the mood, but Steve was not amused.

“I’m not going to help you put the world at that kind of risk,” Steve said.  “Especially because I have no idea what reason you’d have to recreate the serum besides your own amusement, and that’s not a reason to put potentially millions of people in danger.”

At this, Tony frowned.  He would’ve leaned back in his chair to show his confidence, but doing so would cause him to fall off the breakfast bar stool.  Instead, he looked Steve directly in the eyes.

“Actually,” he said, “I’m doing this out of family loyalty.”

Steve scoffed.  “What family?” he asked.  “You’re an only child, your parents are dead-”

“My old man spent the last years of his life working to make this serum, and he died before he could finish it, so I’m picking up the baton.  Call it a favor.”

“You would never do Howard a favor-”

“Don’t do that!” Tony shouted.  “Don’t act like you know him, or anything about my relationship with him.  My reasons for doing this are my own, but I have good intentions.  With this serum, I could change the world for the better.  I could _help_ people, for real this time.  Not with some expo or publicity stunt, but actually for real.”

Steve shook his head, sitting back down across from Tony.

“Do you really think you’re the first person since your father to try and recreate the Super Soldier Serum?” he asked.  “You don’t think Dr. Erskine’s experiments set off an _obsession_ with recreating it?  Failed attempts at recreating the serum, by men half as smart as you, had disastrous results.  I don’t want to think about what kind of results your attempts will have.”

Tony wasn’t sure if he should take this as a compliment or not, but he felt as though he couldn’t give up.  Not when he had such potential to make progress.

“But you’ll be here with me,” Tony said.  “You can check in every step of the way, if you’d like.  Make sure I’m not going mad with power.”

In reality, he absolutely hated the idea of Steve breathing down his neck, but at this point he was willing to compromise for a sample of Steve’s blood.

“I don’t trust you to keep me as informed as I need to be,” Steve said.  “Not if you think it’ll prevent the serum from doing the most good it can in the future.  The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, Tony, and I’m not going to enable you.”  He paused, and Tony was afraid he’d decide to leave, before he said.  “You want my blood so badly?  The SSR took a few vials of it right after the experiment was deemed a success.  I bet SHIELD still has some.”

“Blood goes bad after a while,” Tony countered.  “Besides, you really think Fury will give that to me?”

“Then I guess you’re out of luck,” Steve said.  He stood up to leave, but had a thought and sat back down.  “That won’t matter to you, though,” he said.  “You’ll take this as a challenge and just keep going.  I can’t let you do that.”

He stood up again, this time walking to stand beside Tony.

“You want to know why this is such a bad idea?” he asked.  “You want proof?  I’ll show it to you.”


	4. Howard Stark: April 16th, 1974

When Howard first bought his mansion in New York City, he’d known he’d need space.  Not for entertaining large parties of guests, not for any potential children, but to work.  The first thing he’d done when he bought the place was completely update the basement level.  It had cost more than his fair share of money, and took months of construction, but under his careful watch he’d created a state-of-the-art laboratory and workshop right in his very home.

Throughout the years, he’d put it to good use.  Countless Stark weapons had originated in the basement of his very home, sitting alongside pet projects of Howard’s that weren’t marketable enough to mass produce.  He’d disappear for days, and Maria and Jarvis wouldn’t have to look farther than the basement, where they’d often find Howard muttering to himself as he delicately handled a piece of machinery, or see him fast asleep at (or occasionally under) a table.  It was practically his sanctuary, and both his wife and his butler found this to be a blessing and a curse.  While it was a good thing “in the name of science and progress,” losing Howard to an idea was as easy as leading a moth to flame.  Maria would often go to sleep with him beside her, and wake up with him gone, having spent the last three hours of early morning puzzling through an idea he’d dreamt up.

For the last three weeks, however, one particular pet project had suspended progress on all other concerns.  When Howard wanted to, he could have a singular mind, and for weeks his sole focus had been continuing Dr. Erskine’s work.  He knew he had to be subtle about it.  He’d tried this before, and every time Maria and Jarvis saw the frustration get the better of him.  Soon after, they’d force him to abandon the venture.  But this time, something was different.  This time Howard felt an inspiration to solve this mystery like he’d never experienced before, but he knew Maria and Jarvis would never believe him.  To them, every project he talked about was Howard’s “latest inspiration,” and they’d either expect this to pass or force him to stop before he worked himself into the ground.  He couldn’t let that happen.

He’d set up a decoy project on one of the biggest worktables towards the center of the workshop, and told Jarvis he was experimenting with a new tracking system for his latest batch of missiles.  Off to the side, tucked away in closed folders, were both Dr. Erskine’s past notes, and his latest ones.  While he wasn’t quite at the experimentation stage yet (after all, working with human biology required more sensitive materials than steel and wires), he’d identified the key problems he’d run into last time, and spent hours each day thinking through any possible solution. When everyone in the mansion went to bed, Howard would pin his work from that day up on the walls of his workshop, hoping that seeing everything all at once would finally make it the facts, formulas, and guesswork click.  Usually this led to some minor victories, but he felt as if every solved problem created three more.  The Super Soldier Serum was a quagmire, and he’d held his nose and plunged in headfirst.

As Howard considered his latest findings, he was unaware of two conspirators beginning a conversation in his kitchen.  It was mid-afternoon, and Maria Stark walked into the kitchen to see her butler, Edwin Jarvis, brewing what had to be the third pot of coffee that day.

“If he keeps drinking that stuff by the bucket he’ll die of a heart attack,” she said with a sigh.  Jarvis jumped at the sound of her voice, a little too on edge for someone performing a task as innocent as brewing coffee.

“Who says this is for Mr. Stark?” Jarvis said quickly.

“If it’s not for Howard, then who’s it for?” Maria asked.  She gave Jarvis a teasing smile, then opened the fridge, removed a strawberry yogurt, and went to go grab a spoon out of the silverware drawer.  “Tony?  I think he’s a bit young for coffee, don’t you agree, Mr. Jarvis?”

Jarvis paused, considering the spot he’d put himself in, and then said quietly, “perhaps it’s for me.”

At this Maria let out a laugh.

“You?” she asked incredulously, taking her yogurt and spoon to the kitchen table.  She sat down, but continued to stare at her butler.  “You’re much too English for that.  I know you’d sooner die than swallow an ounce of coffee.”

Jarvis was about to say something, but realized it would be pointless.  Maria was sharper than people assumed, probably thinking that a woman so much younger than Howard had married him for his money.  But, for anyone to keep Howard’s interest for as long as Maria had, that could never be the case.  She had a sharper wit than Jarvis had ever seen in a person, and anyone that could go toe-to-toe with Howard the way she did was something of a novelty to him.

“At least I will have died knowing I didn’t poison my body with motor oil,” Jarvis muttered, admitting defeat.  He pushed the button on the coffee pot to start it running.

“That’s your third pot today,” Maria noted.

“He’s more than insistent,” Jarvis said, and if he hadn’t been so concerned with professionality, the sentence would’ve come out with a much more disapproving tone.  He paused, looking at Maria for a moment before saying, “I know it’s none of my business, but did he-”

“No,” Maria replied, knowing exactly where Jarvis was going.  “He didn’t come to bed the whole night.  I’m not sure he’s slept in thirty hours.”

She shook her head, concern wrinkling her features.

“Is it too soon to intervene?” she asked.

“He’s your husband,” Jarvis said, ever the proper butler.  “That would be your call.  But, if you’re really interested in my opinion-”

“Always, Mr. Jarvis.”

“-then normally I’d say that thirty hours is hardly out of the ordinary.  However, based on what I’ve seen when I’ve come to deliver him his liquid tar, he’s been working with more energy than I’ve seen in recent memory.  Certainly more than I’ve ever seen him devote to missile tracking systems.  I fear he’ll burn himself out sooner than usual.”

Maria considered this, eating a spoonful of yogurt before saying, “do you really think it’s missile tracking systems?”

“That’s not my place to say,” Jarvis replied.

“Pretend it is,” Maria said.  “For me.”

Jarvis sighed.  He’d been with the Starks for decades, and seen and done stranger things than any butler ever should, yet he still felt oddest when he spoke what he deemed as out of turn.

“I have no reason to suspect he’s lying,” Jarvis said, “except my own instincts.  Something feels… off.”

“I’d give your instincts more credit, Mr. Jarvis,” Maria said.  “They’re usually right.  He’s been at this for weeks, and missiles never seem to take him this long.  I’ve noticed a strange sense of urgency too.  I wouldn’t put it past him to stop blinking if he thought it would save time.”  She shook her head, taking a pause to eat another spoonful of yogurt.  “But you just know what a fight it’ll be to drag him away when he’s so focused.”

“The only one I’ve been able to see do it effectively is-”

“Peggy Carter,” Maria said, completing his sentence.  “Or Director Carter, or Madame Director.  Whatever she’s calling herself now.”  She sighed, worry for her husband supporting her instincts, but logic telling her Howard had given her no real signs for concern.  “I hardly think it’s time to call in the cavalry, though.  Not yet, anyway.”

“Not to mention that Director Carter is most likely very busy,” Jarvis said.

Maria nodded, and just then the coffee machine beeped, signaling that it was done brewing.  Jarvis went to go prepare Howard’s cup as Maria stood up from the table, yogurt in hand, and said, “I think I’ll come with you to deliver my husband’s coffee.”

Jarvis was about to say that such an action was hardly appropriate when he realized her ulterior motive.

“I think that would be wonderful,” he replied, mixing a bit of cream in the coffee before walking with Maria down to the basement.

As soon as Howard heard footsteps coming down the stairs, he stashed the papers he’d been writing on in the appropriate folder and went back to the half-built missile lying on his worktable.  A few seconds later, Maria and Jarvis walked in.  He pretended to be so absorbed in his work that he didn’t notice their entrance.

“Mr. Stark,” Jarvis said.  Howard intentionally pretended to be fiddling with something inside the missile.  “Mr. Stark!” Jarvis called again.  “I have your coffee.”

At this Howard finally looked up.

“Wonderful, Mr. Jarvis,” he said.  He pretended to wipe some oil off of his hands and took the cup from his butler.  It was then that he saw Maria.  She smiled at him, and Howard felt a twinge of suspicion.  She rarely came down here without a hidden agenda.

“Hello, Maria,” he said.  “Did you need something?”

“No,” Maria replied innocently, walking over and leaning against the worktable, “I just came to see how you were doing.”

“Fine, thank you,” Howard said hesitantly, then tried to motion her away from the table.  “This material is highly sensitive.  I don’t want you rocking it.”

She stood up, but stayed close by the table.  Howard took a sip of his coffee, eyes quickly assessing his wife and butler’s motives, and decided the best way to get them to leave would be to continue working.  He set the coffee down a safe distance from the missile and put his hands inside the machine again.  It was then that Howard’s desire to get them out as soon as possible became clear to both Jarvis and Maria.  Jarvis, despite his concern, hadn’t deemed the situation dire enough to put up a fight.  However, it was clear Maria disagreed.

“You know, Tony’s probably woken up from his nap by now,” she said.  Howard didn’t look up or respond, so she continued.  “I’m sure he’d love to see you.”

“He’s three,” Howard said, still working.  “His thinking isn’t that developed yet.  His only concerns are food and sleep.”

“Even if I believed that,” Maria said, “he’s your son.  For all we know, he could be making missiles himself by the time he’s seven.”

At this, Howard stopped working, but kept his gaze on the inside of the missile.  His better world for Tony hadn’t included Stark Industries continuing to manufacture weapons.  The idea of an elementary school aged Tony down here with his father working on any kind of weaponry made him sick to his stomach.

“I don’t think we’d be responsible parents if we let that happen,” Howard said, trying to keep his tone light, but failing.

“We might have to, since you never leave this workshop.  It’ll be the only way he can spend quality time with you.”

Finally, this comment made Howard take his hands out of the missile and turn back to face Maria and Jarvis.  His stare shifted from Jarvis, who was looking very uncomfortable and probably internally debating whether the correct option was to leave the Starks to their private moment or stay and support Maria, to his wife, who wasn’t letting much emotion show on her face besides an obvious determination.

“If you want me upstairs, you could be direct with me,” Howard said.

“Would it work?” Maria asked.  “Howard, you haven’t slept in almost two days.  Missiles are never this important to you.  What could possibly be so important, so all-encompassing?”

It would be so easy right then to tell her.  To let her know of the countless hours he’d spent pouring over Dr. Erskine’s notes, wondering how the man had such fantastical yet somehow achievable ideas, or the rush he felt when something had stumped him for days finally fell in into place, or how when he closed his eyes, the only thing he could dream about was Project Rebirth and Steve and saving the world from blowing itself up if it continued on the path it was on.  He could tell her how he wanted to save Tony from a future not worth reaching, how maybe the future of flying cars and space travel wasn’t a fantasy he’d concocted in his younger years to make himself feel better about the war, and that if he worked at it he could be the man that started the journey to a real future, instead of one ruled by atomic bombs.  Or, he could even tell her of how he wanted to do this for her too, how he could give her the future she deserved on a silver platter, and set her up for a better life when he was gone.  She was so much younger than him and had so much life left.  The years she would spent living in the shadow of his legacy should be good years instead of ones colored by mourning. 

Instead, he said, “you know the military: everything’s classified.  I couldn’t tell you, or they’d probably take you out.”

It was a poor attempt at a joke, and both of them knew it.  She sighed, realizing continuing this conversation would get her nowhere, and said, “if you want to see your son, we’ll be upstairs in his bedroom.”

Then she, and a very relieved Jarvis, left the workshop.

When Howard was sure they were gone, he wiped his hands off again and went back to his folders.  Dr. Erskine’s meticulous handwriting clashed with Howard’s own chicken scratch, and he felt as if he and the scientist were having a conversation spanning across the decades.  One direction was a link the past, a link to a time which felt simpler to Howard, when there were Nazis to fight and clear wars to win.  Wars fought with battles and tanks and gunfire, instead of cold wars fought with proxies and missiles and big red buttons.  The other direction was a link to the future, a link to Tony when he’d finally learn to talk like an adult and when his hands grew less pudgy and could better hold tools.  In a future where people didn’t duck and cover in schools but sat in class without fear of atomic annihilation.  The present was a world he’d helped create, something he’d molded with his own two hands when he was too blind to see the future.  Now, he vowed to never make that mistake again.  He’d look to the future with wide, determined eyes, and keep it in his focus.  The present might be beyond saving, but he could make sure the future was something worth reaching.  Steve would’ve wanted that.


	5. Tony Stark: March 24th, 2013 (same day)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went up a few days late because I recently started a new job. Chapters will now be going up about every three days instead of every day so I can have more time to work on them.

Tony followed Steve into the elevator just as Steve pushed the button for one of the basement levels.

“Where are we going?” Tony asked.  

“How good is JARVIS at temporarily declassifying classified documents?” Steve asked.

Tony scoffed.  “JARVIS doesn’t know the meaning of classified.”

“Good,” Steve said.  “Then he’ll have no trouble showing you exactly what you need to see.”

“Now wait a second,” Tony said.  JARVIS followed instructions, but he wasn’t a  _ traitor. _  “Who says he’ll listen to you?”

“You,” Steve replied, “because you’re going to tell him to.  Unless you’re afraid of what you’re going to find out.  I’m not sure you want to risk being wrong.”

Tony left out a huff, feeling a bit like this whole conversation was far too juvenile for him.  Still, he had trouble backing down from a challenge.  The best way for him to get Steve to cooperate with him and leave his experiments alone would be to beat him at his own game.  If playing along while it was still beneficial was the way to do that, then he would.  It was just then that the elevator doors opened, revealing the door to Tony’s workshop.

“Last chance,” Steve said, and Tony swore he saw a flash of a teasing smile.  That was the final straw.  Determined to not let the captain get the best of him, Tony led Steve through the door to his workshop.

“JARVIS!” he called.

“Welcome back, sir,” JARVIS said, his voice almost melodic.  He turned on the lights and the holographic interface in the center of the room.

“I want you to do anything Captain Rogers says,” Tony told him, giving Steve a pointed glance, “but I have override power.”

“Good enough,” Steve said, approaching the interface, and while most people were a bit wary of JARVIS, he regarded it with a bit more caution than the average person.  He’d been in the workshop on rare occasions, and while most technology didn’t faze him anymore, there was something about Tony’s total holographic interface (and frankly, most of the items he made in this workshop) that overwhelmed him.

He cleared his throat, and Tony tried not to snicker.

“Okay, uh, JARVIS-” he said.

“Yes, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS said, ever ready to help.  His interjection caused Steve to jump a little.

“Can you pull up the most well known instances of Project Rebirth copycats?  First just anything on public record.”

JARVIS processed this request, and after a moment pulled up several articles and other written records of peripheral scientific groups’ attempts to replicate the Super Soldier Serum.  They all followed the same pattern: a group with little fame, low funds, and supposedly radical ideas got it in their heads that they had the resources to recreate the serum.  Their mission statements ranged from “taking down the military machine” and “bringing power back to the common man” to “world peace” and “an end to war.”  They got about as far as Howard’s earliest notes, if that, before straying off the beaten path of  _ real scientific fact _ and adopting more… unconventional methods for achieving their goals.  Most of these projects ended in a large scale disaster, bankrupting the scientists and forcing them to suspend the project, while a few simply quit while they were ahead.  There were twenty-three accounts in total, spanning several countries.

Tony skimmed a few of these accounts, flipping through page after page of failure on the interface, before turning back to Steve.

“This is your evidence?” he asked.  “These people never came close to what my father achieved back in the  _ seventies. _  They’re no real threat.”

“Exactly,” Steve replied.  “This is all of the information on public record.  This is what government and military groups want you to believe is that state of recreating Project Rebirth.”

“Slow down, Rogers,” Tony said, “or you’ll begin to sound like a conspiracy theorist.”

“It’s hardly a conspiracy if it’s true,” Steve said, then turned back to the holographic interface with more confidence.  “JARVIS, you can access confidential military records, can’t you?”

“With ease, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS said, and if he wasn’t a machine he might even sound smug.

“Great, then pull up any instance of just the United States military attempting to recreate Project Rebirth.  And, to keep things manageable, don’t display instances that took place before… 2003.”

“Right away, Captain Rogers.”

This took JARVIS few minutes (after all, hacking military servers was still a feat, even if it was a manageable one for the AI), but just as Tony was about to gloat that nothing of note clearly existed, results started popping up.  There seemed to be at least two for each year of the past decade, spread out in all areas of the military.  The most recent had a timestamp of four months ago.  Tony pushed Steve out of the way to get a better look at the classified documents now displaying themselves on his interface, and he realized that much of the military was in the same situation he was.  They had some clue as to what they were doing, but not enough resources to make any notable progress.  Each project tried to take a different route towards the same goal, some focusing more on the holistic biological scale, others more on the chemical and cellular level, and still others trying to use the natural world as a key to unlock once again what Dr. Erskine had managed to crack back in the forties.  Taxpayer money by the millions was channeled into almost all of the attempts.  Regardless of the approach, however, the intent was the same: an army of Super Soldiers at the United States’ beck and call.  They were trying to create Navy Seals in a test tube.

Steve saw the shock on Tony’s face and said, “that’s not even all of it.  JARVIS, expand the search field to all of the United States government.”

As Tony continued to shift through the military records, more files began appearing.  Homeland Security, the State Department, any part of the government that could benefit from a Super Soldier had a hand in trying to recreate the serum.  By the time JARVIS was done, close to fifty files were cluttering his interface.

“This isn’t even considering foreign powers, either,” Steve said.  “Russia, China, a lot of people have something to gain from getting this serum first.  We may have calmed the threat of nuclear warfare, but there’s another arms race in the world, and this one is biological.”

Tony didn’t say anything for a while, eyes still fixed on the documents in front of him.  Finally, he said, “why are they using Gamma Radiation?”

“What?” Steve asked, incredulous that this was Tony’s first response to what he’d shown him.

“The original Project Rebirth experiments used Vita Radiation,” Tony explained, “but they’re using Gamma Radiation.  Why?”

He then diverted his attention in full back to the interface and began to do some more searching.  Steve, hardly a scientist, but still shocked, made a go at telling Tony that that was hardly the point, when JARVIS of all things cut him off.

“I believe Mr. Stark was talking to himself,” JARVIS said.  Thrown by the fact that he was just cut off by a machine he forgot was in the room, Steve closed his mouth and kept quiet.

“JARVIS,” Tony said, “most of Project Rebirth is still classified, isn’t it?”

“That is correct, sir,” JARVIS replied.

“But the high-ranking military guys conducting these experiments might still have access to those classified documents, especially if they’re trying to recreate that work,” Tony mused.  “So why are they intentionally changing a variable?”

“Gamma Radiation is cheaper and more abundant than Vita Radiation,” JARVIS supplied.

“And the military wants to mass produce these Super Soldiers,” Tony said, “so, they substitute Gamma Radiation for Vita Radiation, possibly because they don’t have the funds, but more likely because they don’t have the means to create it.  No wonder their experiments are failing!  JARVIS, show me any major shipments of materials required to build Gamma Radiation facilities in the last ten years.”

JARVIS did just that, and Tony observed the interface, watching as the results he requested display themselves in front of him.  Sure enough, the dates of most of the experiments the military was conducting matched up with several major purchases of materials to build Gamma Radiation facilities.  Two or three didn’t quite match up, but Tony chalked that up to more of those fringe scientific groups trying to recreate the serum, after all, some of them had to have deep pockets.  He then asked JARVIS to show him any major shipments of materials used to generate Vita Radiation.  The AI flagged one or two in the last ten years, but none of them lined up with any military or government operations.  Still, Tony wasn’t worried.  After Howard Stark introduced the world to Vita Radiation, many energy companies and medical groups were interested in its effects.  The field was largely unexplored due to the cost, but some circles had the means to do it.  Assuming that this was the explanation for those materials shipments, he clapped his hands together like he’d just solved the whole mess and turned to face Steve.

“The military, the government, or anyone else have no chances of recreating the serum.  You can’t substitute a key component for a cheaper alternative and expect it to work the same way.  We have nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about?” Steve repeated, blindsided by Tony’s flippant attitude towards this.  “Tony, just because none of these programs have  _ successfully _ recreated the serum doesn’t mean that their current work hasn’t already had disastrous consequences!  You just said that changing a major variable in an experiment will cause it to have very different results.  Who’s to say that the effects of Gamma Radiation don’t corrupt the impact of the serum further?  Everyone doesn’t have the good intentions you claim to have.  They could intentionally be mutating the serum to create something terrible.”

“Now you really sound like a conspiracy theorist,” Tony said.

“I’m serious!” Steve exclaimed.  “Dr. Erskine told me that the serum enhances the subject not just physically, but in all aspects-”

“-and those who are good become great, and those who are bad become evil,” Tony recited.  “I’ve heard this before.”

“Then you should know why I’m worried!” Steve said.  “When Red Skull got his hands on the Super Soldier Serum, it turned him into a monster, and even though it wasn’t finished at the time, it was still much further along than anything these groups, military or otherwise, have managed to create.  With your resources and knowledge, you could actually do this, but as a result you could put people in danger and make many powerful enemies.  You thought it was bad when the government came after you to take your Iron Man suits?  You thought it was a nuisance when they called  _ those _ a weapon?  This is an actual weapon, whether you want to admit it or not.  Just take a look.  JARVIS, get rid of all of the copycat projects, except the ones that were disbanded after being deemed too dangerous to continue.”

“JARVIS, I’m overriding that,” Tony said.  JARVIS, who had just started whirring to fill Steve’s request, went silent at Tony’s statement.

“What  _ is _ your issue?” Steve asked.  “Do you really not see what the problem is, or are you so caught up in what you want that you’re willing to ignore it?”

“I overrided your command because I’ve decided this has gone on long enough,” Tony said.  “You’ve made your point, but you still can’t stop me.  Fine, I won’t have your blood, but you can’t prevent me from working in my own workshop, in my own tower, which, I might remind you, you’re living in  _ for free _ out of the goodness of my heart.”

“You’re going to charge a ninety-four year old man rent?” Steve smirked.

“No, I’m going to tell him to get the hell out of my workshop,” Tony replied.

Steve paused, not one to let a fight go, and was about to decide to leave when a thought occurred to him.

“If you’re going to do whatever you want anyway, then what do you have to lose by hearing me out one last time?  Let JARVIS put my command through, and then I’ll leave you alone.”

Tony considered this.  He had the upper hand.  Like he said, this was his workshop, and JARVIS wouldn’t ignore his override without express instructions.  He could easily tell Steve to get lost and continuing working on the serum, blood sample be damned, but that didn’t feel like winning.  That felt like playing a trump card and running away scared.  He wasn’t just going to prove Steve wrong when he successfully recreated the serum and did all the good he could with it.  He was going to prove Steve wrong right now, by making his final play look insignificant.

“Fine,” Tony said.  “JARVIS, disregard my override and carry out Captain Rogers’ most recent instructions.”

“Just a moment, sir.”

Soon, military and government projects began disappearing off the screen one-by-one.  Of the almost fifty projects they started with, eleven remained on the screen when JARVIS told Tony and Steve that he was done.  The two men began to look over the projects.  Most of them were concerns regarding the Gamma Radiation, whether they were disbanded because their facility was too close to a populated area, or they feared for a meltdown, or other concerns arose as they continued their work.  As Tony glanced through the different classified military reports, he saw information about lab animal mutations that made technicians and service members alike sick to their stomachs.  None had any documented human testing, except for one from 2005.

Tony selected that report and expanded it, reading about an Armed Forces project in 2005 that called itself the “Bio-Tech Force Enhancement Project.”  Steve, not one to be left out, nudged his way past Tony and began to read along as well.  

Started after the 9/11 attacks in 2001, the project was an attempt by General Thaddeus Ross to recreate the Super Soldier Serum in order to protect Americans in a new century of terrorism.  After it was discovered that members of the project tested experimental serums on captured suspected terrorists, Congress disbanded the project.  However, General Ross continued it in secret, hiring radiation experts and claiming that the project’s intention was to develop a formula for radiation resistance, in order to protect Americans working in nuclear facilities and other radioactive environments.  As Tony continued to skim, he reached the bottom of the document, detailing the members of the project and who had clearance to access the document.  General Ross’ name was listed, along with a few other military personnel.  It was then that Tony and Steve both got a surprise.

“Did you read that too?” Tony asked.  “Or am I imagining things?”

“No, that’s right,” Steve replied.

At the bottom of the report it read:  _ “Supervising Radiation Expert: Dr. Robert Bruce Banner (terminated).” _


	6. Howard Stark: May 29th, 1976

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is obviously long overdue. Real life has taken a lot out of me, but I still want to keep working on this, so if you like it, subscribe so you can stay up to date on what will most likely be an erratic updating schedule.

Projects rarely kept Howard’s attention for one year, let alone two.  Usually, if the project hadn’t been completed by the one year mark, Howard deemed it a failure or too boring or costly to continue.  Usually, the serum was the same way.  Other projects, ones that actually paid, required his attention, and soon the idea of recreating the serum was so pushed to the wayside that he saw little point in continuing the experiments.  But, the fervor that had restarted him down this road somehow still hadn’t worn out.  Somehow, he knew that this time was the time he’d succeed, that he’d be able to make Steve proud and save the world from itself, and that faith was enough to keep bringing his attention back to Dr. Erskine’s work even after the multi-week hiatuses that had killed his other attempts.

Of course, he had a day job.  He still had to continue working military contracts and keep Stark Industries churning out weapons and technology, and these other projects soon stopped the serum project from becoming his sole focus, but there were nights at least once a week where working a military would be just too dull or he’d hit a wall working on some potential breakthrough technology, and he’d go back to his folders and hypotheses and Dr. Erskine’s old notes, pin them up on the wall, and spend hours wondering how he’d witnessed such a project come to fruition.

There was a week in May of 1976 where he couldn’t stop working.  This was a typical phenomenon (Maria and Jarvis would even argue that there was  _ never  _ a week where Howard could stop working), but something inside of him gave him an extra burst of determination.  Maybe it was because Stark Industries was on a financial uptick, or maybe it was because the summer was fast approaching and the world’s new life gave him a new energy, but whatever the reason, Howard spent a week barely sleeping and eating.  Jarvis got into the habit of bringing his meals directly down to his workshop, and Maria learned not to expect her husband in bed for more than four hours a night.  She protested, as she always did, telling Howard that he couldn’t sustain this, but at this point in their marriage she was more used to picking up the pieces of his exhaustion when he finally crashed than forcing him to take any kind of preventative action.

In this week, Howard wrapped up two major contracts by Tuesday, working through the night to produce modified fighter jet engines for the Air Force.  When both projects were done, however, he couldn’t find it in himself to be tired.  Sitting in his workshop in the early hours of the morning, the idea of going up two floors to bed was something he was actively avoiding.  It would be a crime to silence a mind racing this fast.  It was then that he found himself going back to the Super Soldier Serum, pinning up his latest findings automatically, as if there was no other use for spare time.  As he stood back and observed findings that had barely progressed in months, he realized that he’d lost track of the ultimate goal.  Sure, completing military contracts was a way to sustain Stark Industries in the short term, but he was still manufacturing weapons.  With the Super Solider Serum, there’d be no need for that.  He could retire on a high note of bringing hope and justice back into a world that sorely needed it.  Making that idea a secondary priority was a mistake he was determined to rectify.

He stayed up the rest of the night trying to tie up loose ends on theories that needed a great deal more research.  After determining that this project would need to command his full attention if he had any hope of it being successful, he once again locked himself in his workshop, away from the world and his family.  Beginning by triple checking that discarded theories, hypotheses, and ridiculous ideas were actually worth discarding, Howard moved on by Thursday into further developing the concepts that seemed most promising.  His diet began to consist of coffee and leftovers from the family dinners he was missing, however, despite the fact that he knew his absence bothered her, Maria did not try to rescue him from the depths of his own obsession as directly as last time.  In fact, she didn’t set foot in the workshop, worrying it would irritate her husband more than help bring him back to society.  Jarvis, ever the faithful butler, simply dropped the food and coffee off on nearby worktables, and left the disapproval he was feeling out of his tone and mostly out of his facial expressions.

By Friday night Howard felt as though he’d hit a wall.  His dinner lay cold and untouched on a worktable near the door (though, at this point, it was far closer to breakfast) and his gaze was fixed on his notes.  Nothing else seemed to matter but the unbreakable focus he’d conjured up for this task.  As he checked over his math once again, determining for another time that his latest theory would almost certainly kill any test subject, he threw down his pen, sighed, and leaned back in his chair.

“How did you do this?” he asked aloud, as if Dr. Erskine was once again sitting across from him, telling him how to work out the issues life had heaped upon him.  “How the hell were you not pulling your hair out at this point?”

Howard chuckled to himself at the notion that not only did the frustrating nature of this problem not make Abraham go bald, but somehow the stress hadn’t done that to him either.  All the trials in his life hadn’t pushed him down so hard that he was unable to get back up.  A man captured by Red Skull for years, scared to death for himself, his work, and his family, somehow managed to come out of that experience hopeful.  He had seen the good in a serum that the United States was ready to weaponize to the highest possible degree.  

There had been nights in the 40s, as the two of the worked on the serum in Stark Industries laboratories, where Howard was about ready to flip a table.  Theories that both of them were sure would work would end up failing due to the fickle nature of human biology, and Howard, much more used to working with machines, would lose his temper.  Abraham would always notice the frustration continuing to mount in Howard, and smile and force him to breathe.

_ “You can’t force progress,” _ he’d say.   _ “It will happen, but it will take time.  Yelling at test tubes won’t make them produce the results you want.” _

At that point they’d share a laugh, then resign themselves to another long night.  If the experiments became too much, they’d go out to a local bar instead, talking theories over drinks because they could never truly escape the mindset of the work.  The serum was a fantasy just within the realm of attainability.  It was all-consuming, ready to warp the mind before it even found its way inside the body.

“What was that you used to say, Abraham?” Howard asked, though he knew the answer.   _ “The serum turns good people great, and bad people evil.  Mind as well as body. _  You never told me it could take over my mind just by working on it.”

It was then that Howard stopped, an idea suddenly occurring to him.   _ Mind as well as body. _  This whole time he’d been focusing on the physically enhancing effects of the serum, but that was only one half.  Sure, it was the most obvious, and what most people had been interested in, but strength was useless if there was nothing in the mind to apply it.  Maybe, if he attacked this problem from a brain standpoint, he’d find his answer.

Howard remembered Dr. Erskine talking about how the serum mainly affected the frontal lobe of the brain, which made sense to him.  As humans evolved, gaining intelligence and sophistication, their frontal lobes grew, so it only made sense that a “super soldier” would have an even more advanced frontal lobe.  Personality, emotions, judgement, consciousness, it was all there.  If he could find a way to stimulate growth in the frontal lobe of the brain, maybe the physical effects of the serum would follow.  Not just mind as well as body, but mind  _ before _ body.

Abraham had always said that Project Rebirth was every bit as much about winning the moral conflict World War II presented as its battles.  The war was not just about the glory and honor of the United States, but what Steve had believed in: protecting the lives of people who no one wanted or cared about.  Who could better know that than two Jews working to continue their survival in a world that had cast them out?  Once again, the scientist had bested Howard decades after his death.  Instead of being upset, however, Howard smiled at the thought.  His friend, a mind to truly match his, was still with him after all these decades.  He’d do him proud.

Howard worked through the rest of the night theorizing different ways of further developing a human being’s frontal lobe.  He was so engrossed that he didn’t realize the sun had come up until hours after its rise, when Jarvis brought down some toast and coffee for him.

“Sir,” came the call from the doorway.  Howard didn’t hear it, still writing, and it was only when Jarvis called to him a bit louder that he noticed and looked up.  

Howard saw Jarvis holding the tray and motioned him in, saying, “just put it next to the dinner tray.  I’ll deal with it later.”

Jarvis saw the untouched dinner sitting on one of the worktables, and as he reluctantly put the toast and coffee down, picking up the now cold leftovers, he said, “sir, I must protest.  You have to eat something.”

Howard started to wave him off, noncommittal comments about how he would in a moment, when Jarvis said more strongly, “sir, I insist!  You can’t starve yourself because you have an idea.  It’s preposterous!  Your brain needs food.  I swear you’ll work yourself into an early grave you keep this up.”

At this Howard looked up for more than a moment.  Jarvis was hardly a person to speak out of turn, especially in a way that, for him, was borderline emotional.  Howard stared at Jarvis, not really finding his words.  Despite the bulter being his oldest friend, sometimes he felt like he hardly knew him at all.

“Alright,” he said finally, getting up from where he was writing and going over to where Jarvis was standing.  He picked up a piece of toast and took a bite, still watching his butler.  Jarvis appeared very uneasy.

“I’m sorry for such a display,” he said to Howard, standing up stiffly, “but it’s warranted.  You have a family now, Mr. Stark.  You can’t just abandon them to the whims of your brain.”  He paused before saying, “let me know if you require anything else,” before walking towards the door.  On his way out, he saw Maria, and his soft, “good morning, Mrs. Stark,” caused Howard to notice her entrance.  He took a sip of his coffee before setting everything back on the tray and going to give his wife a quick kiss.

“You don’t usually come down here,” he said, his tone a bit wary as he remembered their last confrontation.

“That’s right,” Maria said with a smile, “but it’s a special occasion today.”

She looked at her husband expectantly, and after thinking for a moment and coming up blank, Howard looked back and her, prompting her to tell him the answer.

“Oh, come on,” she said.  “You’re so smart.  I know you’ll figure it out.”

Confusion crossed Howard’s face as he picked up the coffee cup again and began to walk around the workshop.  What was so special about today?  It was Saturday, but that could hardly be it.  He hadn’t taken a Saturday off in a decade.

“May 29th,” Maria prompted, and if Howard had been looking at her, he would’ve noticed the disappointment on her face.  “Please tell me you know why that’s important.”

“May 29th,” Howard mused, and then it hit him.  “Tony’s birthday!” he said suddenly.  “Of course, it’s Tony’s sixth birthday, isn’t it?”

“That’s right,” Maria said, “and we’re going to celebrate as a family, so stop what you’re doing and go take a shower.  We’re leaving soon.”

“Leaving?” Howard repeated, as if this was something he couldn’t possibly have predicted.  “No, Maria, I can’t leave now.  I just got over a big stumbling block working on-” he cut himself off when he realized he was still keeping this a secret, and amended, “well, just trust me, it’s been something I’ve been trying to puzzle through for a long time.”

“And you can wait a little longer,” Maria insisted.  “This is your  _ son _ we’re talking about, and you barely see him as it is.  He wants his father around.”

“Maria, I’m sorry,” Howard said.  “I can’t stop now.  This is too important.  Too much work has been invested in this.  I can’t lose my train of thought.  I can’t-”

“What could possibly be more important than your own son?” Maria asked.  “He doesn’t even know you’re  _ home _ because he hasn’t seen you in days.  He thinks you’re at the office working.  Imagine how he’d feel if he knew you’ve been downstairs for days, not bothering to come to dinner, not tucking him in and kissing him goodnight, prioritizing the military and their needs over the needs of your own child.”

“This isn’t the military-”

“Then what is it!”

“The future, Maria,” Howard said, exasperated.  “This is the future I’m building for Tony, and I can’t stop building it now, or it will never exist.  I’ve put too much time, too much effort, too many sleepless nights, into working on this project, and I can’t stop now.”

Howard’s declaration caused a silence to blanket the room.  The couple stared at each other, waiting for the other’s will to break first, but both were too stubborn to back down.  Both felt as though they had the moral high ground, the knowledge of what was best for their son, and both were determined to be right.

“You’re so busy focusing on the future that you can’t see that you’re losing him now,” Maria said.  “If you keep up ignoring him, he won’t want anything you have to give him down the road.”

“I’m not ignoring-”

“Then come with us.”

Howard shook his head, let out a sigh, and said, “I’ve made my decision.  Wish Tony a happy birthday for me.”

Maria let out a small, disbelieving laugh and began to walk from the room.

“I’m sure he’d rather you tell him yourself,” she muttered before walking back up the stairs, both of them knowing full well that Howard heard her.

It didn’t matter though, Howard reasoned.  She’d see soon enough.  Tony would have more birthdays he could be around for, when there wasn’t work to be done.


	7. Tony Stark: March 28th, 2013

It took them four days to actually talk to Bruce, and all of four minutes for Tony to insist on its necessity.

“JARVIS,” Tony called, “where is-”

“No,” Steve said, earning a sharp look from Tony for cutting him off.

“Rogers, what is your enormous bias against anything that interests me?” Tony asked, speaking with an annoyance that was only half feigned.

“There’s clearly a reason this report says Bruce is dead,” Steve said.  “A reason that I’m willing to bet he won’t want to be reminded of.  You want to go down what’s turning out to be a suspicious road, fine, but you have to stop forcibly dragging people along.”

“You clearly don’t know Bruce like I do,” Tony said, waving away Steve’s concerns.  “We have a connection that you just wouldn’t understand.  Digging up dirt for the sake of it is one thing, but this is for science!  He’ll know I mean well.”

Bruce had taken some personal time away from living in Stark Tower, claiming he was going to a convention relating to some sort of specialized biological engineering, though, with this new information, Tony was much more skeptical of his true whereabouts.  When he finally returned late Wednesday night, it took serious insistence from Steve to prevent Tony from knocking down the scientist’s door and asking questions.  Finally, when Thursday morning arrived, Tony loaded the classified report onto his cell phone, put on his most determined expression, and took the elevator up to the floor where Bruce’s suite was.  When he arrived, however, he saw Steve waiting for him.

“How long have you been waiting here to crush my dreams, Rogers?” he asked with a sigh.

“About an hour,” Steve smirked, “but I’m not here to stop you.  I’m just here to make sure you maintain some tact when you’re yanking skeletons out of Bruce’s closet.”

“Since when do I lack tact?” Tony muttered and knocked on the door of the suite, grateful that Steve took the obvious social cue that his question was rhetorical.

A sleepy Bruce answered the door, looking jet lagged and wearing sweatpants and a grey undershirt.  He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the bright light of the hallway, and pushed some hair out of his eyes.

“It’s six am in California, you know,” he said, “and I’m pretty sure my body wishes I was still there.”

“Well, consider this us helping you readjust,” Tony said.  “Can we come in?”

“Something tells me you’re going to try to convince me even if I don’t say yes,” Bruce muttered before opening the door a bit wider, inviting the two of them in.  They walked into the living room and Bruce shut the door behind them, just as Tony quickly flipped on the light.  Bruce squinted, looking as though he was already regretted his decision, and said, “at the very least, let me make some coffee before I ask you both why you’re here.  Do either of you want a cup?”

Tony was about to say that he only drank his own Italian espresso when Steve said, “that’d be great, thanks.”  Bruce nodded and went to the kitchen to go make three cups.

“Just because you drank whatever water they called coffee in the army doesn’t mean that some of us don’t have standards,” Tony muttered.

“Impossibly high ones, at that,” Steve replied, “now shut up and be polite.”

The two of them sat down in adjacent armchairs, Tony scrolling through his phone, and Steve trying not to think too hard about how awkward a conversation this was about to be.  Finally, after what felt like an hour, Bruce set their mugs down on the coffee table, and took a seat across from the two men on his couch.

“Can we skip whatever small talk you’re planning on having?” Bruce asked, taking a sip of his coffee.  “I’m definitely not awake enough for it.”

“Like I’d disrespect my friend by wasting his time with small talk,” Tony said with a smile that read more disingenuous than he intended.  He pulled up the report on his phone and handed it to Bruce.

“Can you tell me what this is?” he asked.

Recognition crossed Bruce’s face in a matter of seconds as he skimmed the text on Tony’s phone.

“Classified,” he said, “though apparently that doesn’t mean much to you.”  He set Tony’s phone down on the coffee table before sighing and saying, “you can read, and you clearly have access to this, so why do you need me?”  It became obvious as this point that Steve had been right.  Digging through Bruce’s past was not something he appreciated, if his hard expression and level tone were any indication.

“The report says you’re dead,” Tony explained.  “I believe the word was ‘terminated?’”  He paused, taking a sip from his own mug out of habit before realizing his mistake and trying not to cough on the taste of Bruce’s store brand black coffee.  He cleared his throat before continuing, pretending not to notice Steve’s annoyed expression.  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t look very dead.”

“The Armed Forces thinks I am,” Bruce said, his voice steady, “and that’s what matters to me right now.”

“You’re running from the United States military?” Steve asked incredulously, as if it was a more likely story that they’d misread the report entirely.  “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“That’s not exactly how someone does well on the run,” Bruce replied.  “Fury knows, he was the one that got Nat to yank me out of India, and she was smart enough to figure it out too.  Between the two of them, I’m as buried as I thought this report was.”  He paused, taking another sip of coffee.  “Why do you care so much about my past, anyway?”

“Tony is interested in recreating the Super Soldier Serum,” Steve said before Tony could get a word in, “after discovering some new research on it-”

“-and we found this report when this hater of progress was trying to convince me that the serum was too dangerous to recreate,” Tony interjected.

The two shared a glare, and Bruce pretended he didn’t notice.

“The serum  _ is _ extremely dangerous,” Bruce said, and Steve smiled to himself.  “When you get power hungry people like General Ross involved in a project to recreate it, the results are invariably disastrous.  I-” he paused, as if his words suddenly became difficult to say, and he broke eye contact.  “I wouldn’t be what I am today if he hadn’t recruited me for that project.”

He gave Tony and Steve a moment to understand the meaning behind his words, and when they did, their eyes grew wide.

“The serum is the reason-” Steve started, but his look was just a bit too pitying for Bruce’s liking, and the scientist cut him off.  In a weird way, that made Steve feel responsible for what had happened to Bruce.  The success of Project Rebirth jumpstarted the world’s fixation with the Super Soldier Serum.  Maybe if he hadn’t been such a good soldier, governments wouldn’t be so obsessed with recreating him, whatever the cost.

“My own arrogance is the reason I became what I am,” Bruce said, “and that’s something I have to live with and work out by myself.”  He kept eye contact with Steve as he spoke, as if telling the super soldier to keep his well-meaning sympathies to himself.  “I didn’t even know what the Bio-Tech Force Enhancement Project really was until after it was too late.  General Ross felt as though my clearance wasn’t high enough.”  This statement had the most resentful tone about it, as if this was what truly bothered Bruce about the whole situation.

“They told me that they needed an expert in my field to help develop a serum that would make the human body more resistant to lethal doses of radiation,” Bruce continued.  “I believed that lie for five years, as our funding kept dwindling and the army got more and more impatient.  I thought that we were close to finding an answer, but we didn’t have the funds or the permission to test the serum on a live subject.  I’d devoted half a decade of my life to developing what I thought was something that could truly benefit humanity, and I wasn’t about to give up when they talked of disbanding the project.  So, I injected myself with the latest version of the serum and flooded the lab with a lethal dose of Gamma Radiation.  I thought that if I could prove the work had been a success, they’d give us all the funds we needed to run more tests.”

Bruce shook his head, taking another long sip of coffee.  When he was finished, he put his other hand on the mug and pulled it a little closer to his chest.

“If I had known that they were trying to recreate the Super Soldier Serum, I never would’ve done it.  The original experiment didn’t use Gamma Radiation, and I think that’s what did me in.  You can’t change a major variable of an experiment and expect it to turn out the same way.”

“See, that’s what I was-” Tony started, but Steve kicked his foot before he could keep going.

“I don’t know exactly what happened, to this day,” Bruce said, “but I think the Gamma Radiation destabilized whatever version of the serum they’d managed to create.  Its effects ran rampant in my body, amplifying some results and completely neutralizing others, and tying itself to my mind via my emotions.  I got all of the strength but none of the control.”

“Mind as well as body,” Steve muttered, just like Dr. Erskine had said.  The Gamma Radiation had so thoroughly corrupted the effects of the serum that it only had the most primitive connection to the mind: through instinctual human emotions, like anger.

“Since then I’ve been on the run,” Bruce said, “more or less.  Fury’s managed to keep me hidden away safely enough that I can stay here, and the military assumes I’m dead anyway.  The last time they saw me was in Harlem back in 2005.  I made it all the way to India without being discovered, kept the Other Guy under control, and worked as a doctor for a year.  That was going to be my life, until Fury came along.  He was probably the one who leaked fake intelligence to the military saying that I’d died in Asia.”

He paused, letting out a small sigh and finally setting his mug down on the coffee table.  When he spoke, his tone was a step away from monotonous, like his mind was somewhere far away.

“I was wondering why they haven’t been looking for me, in all honesty.  I’ve been feeling comfortable enough to actually  _ go _ places again, get a piece of the life I had before the accident back.”

He stopped, realizing that his words would probably gain him more pity than anything, and finally made eye contact with Steve and Tony again.  There was a long pause as the three men looked between themselves, letting Bruce’s words hang in the air.  Steve was the one who broke the silence.

“So you agree with me, then?” he asked.  “That Tony shouldn’t try and recreate the serum?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all,” Bruce said, a bit of life returning to his voice.  “The reason I’m in this situation is because I was arrogant, and because the military was entitled.  They felt as though they had a right to what they thought was the best weapon in the world, and I was so concerned with justifying the five years I spent working for them that I made the worst mistake of my life.  That’s a bad combination.  We were all in it for personal gain.  Tony, well, no offense, but you don’t really have much to gain from this at all.”

“What do you mean?” Tony asked warily.

“What are you going to do with this serum once you recreate it?” Bruce asked.  “Because, honestly, I know you will.  It’s only a matter of time before someone does, so it might as well be you.  But you can’t monetize something like this.  You’re too smart to assume that people won’t try to weaponize it the second it’s released.  You want a third world war?  This is the perfect way to start one.”

“So why should he keep working on this project?” Steve asked.  He was about to say more when Bruce cut him off.

“But that’s not what you want, Tony.  I know you; you’re doing this for the sake of it, because you can, and I really see no problem with that.”

“But once the formula exists, it’s only a matter of time,” Steve interjected.

“People have been trying to do this for decades,” Bruce said, turning to face Steve directly.  “At this point, the serum has entered into the realm of enigma.  It’s become less about might and more about bragging rights, not to mention how intensely a mystery can fascinate people.  If Tony doesn’t recreate this, someone will, and soon.  This was not the first military project on the subject, and certainly not the last.  This one just was a bit more… infamous, I guess.  Regardless, let it be him.  I trust him to handle it better than pretty much everyone else working to solve this puzzle.”

He looked from Steve to Tony, and then back to Steve.  Both of their faces were blank, as if neither of them expected this response.  Bruce gave a noncommittal shrug.

“That’s just my opinion, though.”

They sat for a few more moments, but the silence became too much, and Tony was never one for playing social etiquette games when there was work to be done.  To hell with politeness.  Bruce gave him all the permission he needed, and a decent way to shut Steve up on top of it.  This felt like a victory if he ever knew one.

He stood up, picked his phone up off of the coffee table, and said, “we woke you up, didn’t we?  Steve, we should let the man rest.  He’s probably jet lagged.”

Bruce made a face that was a cross between a smirk and a bit of disbelief, as if the selective social obliviousness of Tony Stark never failed to amaze him.  Steve, still shocked by Bruce doing nothing short of giving Tony his blessing, nodded stiffly before following him to the door of the suite.  Once they were in the hallway, Tony turned smiling to Steve.

“It appears your genius plan backfired,” Tony said.

“I had no genius plan, this was your- oh, nevermind,” Steve said, rolling his eyes.  “Fine, do what you want.  I won’t stop you, but I’m still not giving you my blood.”

He began to walk away from Tony towards the elevator.

“I never needed your blood anyway,” Tony called to the back of Steve’s head.  The super soldier just waved him off.  Tony let out of a huff, pulling out his phone and looking briefly back over the Bio-Tech Force Enhancement Project’s report before closing it and deleting the file.  No sense in keeping documents on his phone that technically weren’t supposed to exist.

_ So what if Steve doesn’t think this project is a good idea, _ he thought to himself.   _ I’m the genius, and I know this is a good idea.  He’s just an old man scared of progress. _

As he thought, Tony took a different elevator straight down to his workshop.  As he entered through the glass voice, JARVIS greeted him.

“How was your meeting with Dr. Banner, sir?” the AI asked.

“Fine,” Tony muttered, clearly distracted.  Bruce had mentioned how the military was working off and on to recreate Project Rebirth since Steve was iced, with little success.  But Bruce’s transformation showed a decent level of understanding of how the serum worked, even if it had failed miserably.  If Tony could find a way to fix the stabilization issues that Bruce experienced, he might solve this problem sooner than he thought.

“JARVIS, pull up those military documents from a few days ago,” Tony said, “and display any experiment that had at least one test with even limited success.”

If he couldn’t have Steve’s blood, at the very least he could steal from the competition.  Science  _ was _ a collaborative process, after all.


End file.
